


Catalytic Lullaby

by naiad (iamnaiad)



Category: NSYNC
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-01-15
Updated: 2010-01-15
Packaged: 2017-10-06 07:34:17
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,382
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/51226
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/iamnaiad/pseuds/naiad
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He kept one of JC's hands between his own and tapped the beat of the music against it with his fingers.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Catalytic Lullaby

_"These sound-oholics. These quiet-ophobics."_

"I'm going to fucking kill him," Justin said, his voice stretched with anger.

Chris shifted his cell from one ear to the other and plucked a beer from the cooler beside his chair. The ice held and then fell into the vacant space with a crunch. "Who?"

"Trace. The dirty bastard left some pizza out and it's growing."

"You're home?"

"Yeah, last night." There was a clatter in the background; the sound of something being thrown in the trash. "Three day break then we're on the road again."

Chris straddled his chair and it screeched as he dragged it between his legs to the edge of the pool. "Usual beer and barbecue?"

"Dude, what the fuck was that noise? And yeah, tomorrow afternoon. Come at three and bring those other shitheads." There was some rustling in the background. Unpacking if Chris guessed right. "I'm going to deodorise and then sleep for fourteen hours. See you tomorrow."

The phone clicked in his ear. Chris chugged half his beer and let his feet plop into the water.

*

Music and a conversational buzz gradually became louder as Chris wound his way around to Justin's backyard. The Stones told him it was Justin's choice on the stereo and high pitched giggling said Joey had brought the family. Chris grinned. "Fear not, losers. I am here, you can start the party."

"We started without you, dude. Just like always."

Chris crouched down and put his hands over Briahna's ears. "Fuck you, Bass. Get me a beer." He tickled Briahna's belly, chuckled as she giggled again, and scanned the small crowd. "JC not here yet?"

"Nah," Joey said. "We thought he might come with you. Where's your mom?"

"They'll be late; she had some stuff to do." He took the beer Lance handed him and popped the cap off. "I didn't speak to JC. I left a message on his phone, but figured he'd speak to Justin at least. Hey! Dude! Justin! Did 'C call you?"

Justin looked up from where he was flipping burgers and said, "Nope. I haven't spoken to him for a couple of weeks. I thought he'd come with you."  
"Why does everyone think that? I haven't spoken to him for weeks either. Huh." Chris looked at Lance. "You?"

"No. Not since Justin started touring. Joe?"

"We had lunch...um, about two and a half weeks ago."

Chris couldn't help the glance towards the front of the house. "Dude. So no one's seen him or spoken to him for at least two weeks. Do we still think he'll be here today?"

Joey and Lance shook their heads as Mick Jagger told them all that sometimes, you get what you need.

 

_"Nobody wants to admit we're addicted to music...We can't bear to be without it, but no, nobody's addicted...We could turn it off anytime we wanted." _

Chris weaved through the absolute chaos masquerading as JC's house. Cigarette butts and roaches floated in liquid graves resting amidst trash littered across the floor and furniture. CDs sat piled around the stereo - case-free and glinting like a vein of silver in the sunlight that filtered through the blinds. Two half-naked girls were passed out on the couch and another lay draped across the armchair, her shirt dangling limply from a wrist. Chris' hand drifted out and he paused to appreciate the view. JC was going to pitch a fit, if he hadn't already.

JC lay curled into a small ball in the middle of his bed. His hands were white-knuckled and clutching at the sheets. The only evidence of his head was a curl trailing from beneath the pillow and a slight snuffling. At least he was breathing.

There was paper scattered across the covers and the floor. Some of it was marked with music or words, but the rest was so crumpled that Chris couldn't tell if there was anything on it at all. An open notebook rested beside the empty pillow. Chris sat on the bed and picked it up. JC didn't move. The words scribbled over the open page had been written forcefully, JC's ordinarily light and loopy writing leaving small tears in the paper. 'Noise Pollution'. 'Silent Song'. 'Deafening Melody'. 'White Noise'. 'There is no true silence'. 'In space, no one can hear you scream'. Chris laughed; JC was unleashing his inner geek. Again.

Chris put the book down and bounced on the bed. The house was too quiet and he was bored.

JC didn't even twitch.

Chris tried again, putting more energy into the bounce, stopping just short of getting to his feet and jumping. JC slept like the fucking dead. Turning to face JC completely, Chris reached out a finger and poked JC in the waist. There was a tiny flinch. Chris poked again. Another twitch. And so it went; poke, twitch, poke, twitch.

Jabbing again, Chris was surprised when JC's arm moved and he rolled over in a refrain of crumpling and rustling. Chris had no choice but to follow his trapped hand and finished up with his chest on JC's back, legs stretched out behind him. Now reasonably convinced that JC was awake and in denial, Chris tugged at his hand and felt JC's arm tighten. He flopped his head forward, the warmth of JC heating his face through the sheet, and forced himself to go limp.

He took a moment to relax and inhale JC's sleepy smell, then pulled his hand free and thumped JC on the ass. "Get up, dude. If I have to pour water on your head, I will. I'm having a crisis and I need your help." The piece of paper JC threw at him bounced off his forehead.

"Half an hour. I need a shower."

"He evens rhymes badly half asleep." Chris jabbed at JC again and glared at him. "You have exactly half an hour. If I have to come back up here to drag you out of bed, I can promise that the aftermath will be very wet. Most probably requiring the purchase of a new bed since this one won't be dry any time this century." Chris pushed himself up. He watched JC briefly before giving him another poke and going back downstairs.

Twenty-four minutes and thirty-six seconds later, according to his stopwatch, Chris had made a start on the clean up. Clean-up being ejecting strays from JC's house with thinly veiled warnings about libel laws and lawsuits and sorting through the pile of CDs for something decent to play. He was slotting his selections into the stereo when JC's voice cut the silence.

"No music, man."

"Aww. Is someone hung over?" Chris pushed the CD drawer closed.

"Seriously, cat. If you want to listen to music, you'll have to do it in your car or something. I don't want to hear it right now."

Chris looked up, but all he could see was JC's back as he walked out of the room. He followed JC to the kitchen.

"Dude! What the fuck is up your ass? And not in the good way!"

"Nothing. I'm just kind of tired." Chris hmphed, but JC just kept talking. "So what's the crisis? Did the road trip get cancelled or something?"

Chris watched JC shift all the crap off the kitchen table and chairs - depositing it on the counters instead. It wasn't cleaning so much as rearranging. Now that he was out of bed, JC didn't seem capable of staying still. Chris felt like he was watching himself; it itched.

"I'm old."

JC kept moving, stacking glasses as he talked. "We know this, Chris. Why is it suddenly a crisis?"

"Because, asshole, I found back hair. Hair! On my back!" Chris wasn't lying, he really had found hair on his back, but it wasn't crisis worthy. Yet. He was more worried about the weight he'd gained since the hiatus started - it was going to be harder to shift this time, when and if they toured again.

"You have to be fucking kidding me. You woke me up because of back hair?"

"Thanks for the sympathy. I can always count on you 'C." Looking at the tower of glasses JC had built, Chris said, "Have you given up painting for sculpting?"

"Huh?"

Chris waved his hand towards the bench where JC was standing. "Are you planning on cleaning that up or are you just going to keep shifting it around?" Chris' fingers beat a quiet rhythm on the table as JC ignored him. "It looks like you had quite a party. I'm a little hurt I wasn't invited. Did you have a good time?"

JC had stopped what he was doing and appeared to be making coffee.

"Coffee'd be great. Thanks," said Chris, wondering why JC had milk in the fridge. JC didn't do dairy. Said it fucked with his sinuses and made his voice sound like he was singing through a scarf. "So? Party? Good times. Fun had by all?"

"Uh, sure."

"Well, I'm convinced. In fact, I'm jealous I couldn't be here. Especially after seeing the hot babes on your couch. I got rid of them by the way."

"You don't like women, Chris."

"Well, no, but that doesn't mean I'm immune to the aesthetics. We've had this discussion, JC." JC finished making the coffee and Chris watched closely as he put a cup in front of Chris and sat down in the opposite chair. Something wasn't right, but he hadn't figured what it was yet.

"Aesthetics?"

"A beautiful view. Beauty as created by nature."

"I know what it means, Chris." JC smirked. "Though I'm surprised you do."

Chris turned the mug in his hands. "I have months of education on you, fucker. Besides, it would be wrong of me not to appreciate the effort women go to to keep their legs and asses tight and their skin smooth. To ignore the way their boobs..."

JC cut him off with a waved hand. "I get the point."

"I'm shocked that you were sleeping alone, having seeing the party left-overs," Chris said, grinning. "Are you giving up your kinky ways?"

"My ways are not kinky..."

"I have a scar that says otherwise."

JC continued, "and it's just not worth it anymore." He stood and picked up his coffee cup. "I'm going back to bed." At the kitchen door, JC turned around. Chris cocked his head. "There's a salon number by the phone. And one for my cleaning service. I don't want to deal with back hair or mess. Call them both, would you." It wasn't a question.

He left and Chris watched him go, thinking of Shirley Bassey, the Propellerheads and history.

Chris toyed with not calling the cleaning service before admitting to himself that the crap was going to bug him just as much as it would JC. More, since he wasn't asleep. He made the call and headed in the direction of JC's studio. There was a riff circling through his head that he wanted to play with and JC wasn't going to show his face again any time soon. Halfway down the hall, he stopped moving. Blocking the studio door, tilted on an angle, was a large set of drawers. Chris turned on his heels. It was time to wake JC and find out why the fuck Chris felt like he was in an episode of the Twilight Zone.

JC was curved into a ball again. The redistribution of scrunched up paper from the bed to a pile in the far corner suggested he hadn't gone straight to sleep. Chris let himself look more closely than he had earlier. JC's hair was longer than Chris had ever seen it. Fine lines that hadn't been there when Chris had seen him last stretched across his forehead, and his skin was ashy. What stood out the most, though, was the tight set of his mouth and jaw. JC was grinding his teeth.

Chris crossed the room, plonked onto the bed and shook JC. "JC." He shook him again. "JC, why are there drawers in front of your studio door?"

JC's response was sub-audible. "Because there isn't a window."

Chris frowned and shook JC harder. "JC! Wake up, fucker, and tell me what the hell is going on." The sleepy sounds weren't good enough. He shook him again. "I said, wake up!"

"Fuck, Chris. What do you want now?" JC pushed his legs out and tried to dislodge Chris from the bed.

"I want to know why you and your bed seem to be attached at the...whatever, and why there's suddenly no way to get into your studio." Chris punctuated his words with small shakes to JC's body. "And don't even think about telling me nothing's going on, because that would be bullshit."

JC's hand had crept underneath one of the pillows and now he was hitting Chris in the chest with a book. "Here. Read this and go the fuck away."

"You're trying to get rid of me with a book?" The high pitched disbelief was embarrassing. He coughed. "That isn't going to cut it, asshole."

"Man, since when have you been my mom? Just read the book. It's all you need to know." There was defeat in JC's voice and he pulled a pillow over his head while giving Chris a solid nudge with his feet.

Chris scooted out of reach and looked at the cover. Worn and bent, the thick paper was fraying at the corners. 'Lullaby'. He thought about reading the book right there on JC's bed, but he needed his glasses and they were down in his bag. Getting old sucked.

 

_"Someone's always spraying the air with their mood." _

Sitting in the guest bed he'd taken, Chris let the book fall open once more. He'd dropped it on the way to the room and the pages had fallen open to a place where the spine was severely bent. Chris had read that section first - a chapter that was little more than some guy's rant about constant noise and poor attention spans. The musical references had obviously captured JC. 'You turn up your music to hide the noise. Other people turn up their music to hide yours. You turn up yours again. Everyone buys a bigger stereo system' was smudged where a finger had run over the text repeatedly. So was, 'He's making sure your imagination withers.' Chris supposed that explained the studio and JC's attitude, if he squinted, but he didn't buy it.

Chris had stayed up most of the night, reading the book through twice . The story of a lullaby that killed people who heard it hadn't been particularly enlightening, it felt more like bullshit. The third chapter, the one JC had read obsessively, maybe, possibly had a point. People did like a lot of noise - himself included - and it could be overwhelming, but Chris didn't see that that was any reason to block a studio. JC was being ridiculous. Not that that was anything new.

Dumping the book on the floor, Chris lounged back onto the bed. JC would try to avoid him for the rest of the day, minimum. His best option was to corner JC while he was still in bed. Chris looked at his watch. 8.15am. He'd slept maybe two hours. Fucking JC and his artiste crap. Still, if Chris was right, and he usually was, then JC was in the throes of another mood and probably wouldn't even leave his bed today. There was time for more sleep.

Chris walked into JC's bedroom at around three. JC was sprawled across the bed, but his hands still clutched the sheets and Chris could hear his teeth grinding against each other from the doorway. It looked like he hadn't left the bed since the day before. Chris remembered the way JC had slept when he was testing out his new sexuality on Chris in Germany - he'd taken up as much space as possible and clung as if his life depended on it. Chris had never known him to be a tense sleeper.

Shutting the door behind him, Chris crossed the room and sat on the edge of JC's bed. He slid the book out of his back pocket and put it on the floor next to the coffee he'd brought up. Chris looked at the cover for a moment, then reached out a hand and stroked the curve where JC's neck met his shoulder. He kept stroking until he coerced JC awake. When JC released a series of breathy moans and stretched like a cat, arching into Chris' caress, Chris knew he was awake enough.

"So. There's no window in the studio?"

"Uh huh. I couldn't get out."

"What about the door?"

"Locked." JC stretched a little more and released the sheets. Chris moved his hand away. "Don't stop. 'S nice."

Chris began massaging the back of JC's neck gently. "And the drawers?"

"To stop me going back in. They were a bitch to move." Chris paused and JC whined in the back of his throat.

"You moved them yourself?" JC nodded against the pillow. "Fuck, 'C, you idiot. You could have been hurt. Those things look heavy."

"I was careful. It took about an hour to get them from the guest room to the studio."

"The guest room upstairs? Jesus, JC!" That explained the weird space in the room Chris had taken. Chris ran a hand through his hair and mimed pulling it a little. Beneath his other hand, JC was giggling slightly. It was unnerving. "Why don't you want to go into the studio?" The freaky giggling stopped and Chris felt JC's tension return.

"Did you read the book, asshole?" It wasn't a question so much as a resentful accusation. "If you had, you'd understand."

Chris shifted so that he could use both hands to knead JC's neck and shoulders. It was the easiest way to get information from him; always had been. "I read the book. Twice, in fact. So don't be so shocked. It didn't make me want to rearrange furniture." JC was trying to move away, but Chris held firm and didn't stop massaging.

"It's just. It's meant to be special. I always thought there was nothing better, you know. The way music can make you feel happy or sad or horny... The way you get consumed and lost." There was a small pause. "I didn't believe anyone could hate it like that."

"Everyone hates some kind of music, JC. When was the last time you caught me listening to opera." Chris was being deliberately stupid. He couldn't help it.

"Three years ago." Chris heard JC rolling his eyes. It was all in the tone. "You know that's not what I meant, Chris."

"Then what the hell do you mean?"

"I... My songs. Our music. I don't want to be responsible for creating noise pollution. I don't want my music to be the reason someone locks themselves in the bathroom and stuffs their ears with earplugs."

Chris stopped kneading, but left his hands where they were. "That's complete bullshit! It's one guy, who's written one fucking chapter about music and noise. You're taking it way too seriously, JC. You're fucking smarter than that." Chris' hands weren't still anymore - they were waving around in the air. "Lots of people like music. Hell, lots of people like our music - your music. That many fans can't be completely wrong." He huffed. "Asshole."

JC was quiet as he said, "They're so busy screaming and looking at what we wear that they don't hear a thing. They listen to our records and they still don't hear a thing. They don't care about the music and all they do is make the people around them pissed."

Chris returned his hands to JC's neck. "JC."

"I don't want to do this anymore, Chris," said JC, his voice soft and miserable.

"What about the solo album?" Chris pitched his voice to match JC's - it was second nature. "You have a contract."

"I've recorded enough tracks. Enough to meet the contract, anyway."

Chris hesitated a moment and asked, "Are they good enough?"

JC sighed. "Yes. No. They aren't perfect, but that doesn't make any difference. Nothing I've done has ever been anywhere near perfect. It hasn't even been," JC cut himself off. "I'm tired, Chris. I'm just going to go back to sleep."

"Ok," Chris said. "Do you want me to go?"

"No."

Chris started rubbing JC's neck and shoulders again and attempted to ignore the alarms in his head. He kept going even after he felt JC's body become limp.

 

_"These music-oholics. These calm-ophobics." _

"I'm telling you, he's like, given up music or some bullshit." After Chris had left JC sleeping, he'd shifted the drawers just enough to get into the studio. What he found inside had sent him searching for his cell. After he was done talking to Justin, he planned to go to the store for food and alcohol before getting supremely wasted.

"You know what 'C's like, yo." Justin's voice sounded tinny, like Chris could put his fingers through it. He tried to remember where Justin was, exactly. "It's probably just a funk 'cause a song isn't working. He'll snap out of it when inspiration hits."

Chris started another lap of JC's backyard. "I don't think so, J. I mean, the studio was a fucking wreck, dude." It had been unbelievable. JC's normally meticulous studio had looked demolished. Every single piece of equipment had been unplugged; at both ends where possible. Cables had been piled on the floor in a huge tangle that would take years to sort though. One of the computer monitors was a smashed mess, the other turned to face the wall. The mixing desk had just been draped with a towel, but the tower holding the patch bay had been completely dismantled. It and its contents were spread across the couch and the one upright chair. "Fuck! He destroyed his DATs, Justin. The only ones he didn't dump in the trash or pull the tape out of were the ones for the record company. I found them upstairs. Don't ask me what he did with the disks and CDs. And fuck if I know where the laptop has gone."

Justin was quiet. Chris imagined impending hysteria. "You don't think someone else could have done it? You're sure JC's not pranking you?"

Chris slumped to the grass. "It's JC, dude. It's not a joke. Maybe somebody else did it, but I don't think so. If they had, more than one monitor would have been smashed and JC would be on the phone to the lawyers."

"Have you spoken to Joey or Lance?" Justin was taking Chris more seriously now, he could hear his voice rising.

"No, not yet. Fuck, man, I just wanted to come and visit my friend. Find out what the hell he's been doing. I didn't expect to find him this fucked up. Not even when we were wondering where the fuck he was."

"What about Carlos? Where's he at?"

"No idea. I haven't seen him. The party was his, but he hasn't come around since."

"Well that should tell you something. When was the last time Carlos wasn't around?" Chris could hear Justin frowning and plotting. "Let me call the guys. We'll call you back on conference."

Chris sighed. "I don't even know what the hell I'm doing here in the first place."

"You're shooting for the moon, Chris. Taking a shot at having everything you want. Dude, it's right there; it's gonna happen," Justin said.

"Nobody gets everything they want, Justin. That's not how life works." He picked at the grass beside him. "Not for me, anyway."

"Chris."

"Call back tomorrow. I plan on being very drunk, very soon," Chris said.

Justin made a sound, but all he said was, "Tomorrow? We should do something now, before it gets worse."

"JC's not moving today, trust me. It can wait a day."

"All right, all right, we'll call tomorrow. Love ya, man. And..." Justin paused briefly. "Give JC a hug for me, ok?"

Chris listened as Justin hung up. Then he flopped onto his back and fought the urge to scream. He sucked at emotional crap.

When Justin called back, Chris was outside ignoring his hangover. JC's house was stifling, he hadn't seen anyone all day and the silence was driving him insane. Either JC was being completely nocturnal or he'd given up eating. Chris was betting that JC just hadn't gotten out of bed at all. His phone rang and he checked the display before answering. "Speak."

Justin's voice was much clearer this time. "Switch to speaker. Joey and Lance are already on the line."

"Hello to you too. How are we, boys?"

"Fine, thank you," said Lance. He could always be counted on to be polite and Chris was glad for the familiarity. "Justin said JC flipped and trashed his studio?"

"Yeah. Well. Not trashed so much as totally dismantled. Only one thing's broken. Well, that, and he dumped all the music."

"Are you sure it was JC?" Joey sounded disbelieving and Chris didn't blame him. They were living in the Twilight Zone.

"Pretty sure. How much did the child share?"

"I'm not a fucking child, asshole." Chris smiled at Justin's feigned indignation. "I didn't tell them much, man. I thought you'd be able to explain better than me."

Chris sighed. He was already tired of thinking about JC and he had a feeling that whatever was wrong, it was going to be a bitch to fix. "Right. Cliff Notes version. The place was a dump, complete with groupies sleeping on the couch. The studio door was barricaded so he couldn't get in. He's read this book that talks about the evils of music and he's decided that he doesn't want to do 'this' anymore. Plus, he sleeps all the time. That's it. You know the rest."

"Don't you think you're being a bit melodramatic?"

"I am not fucking being melodramatic, Lance." Chris kicked at the grass. "Oh, shut up," he said in response to the snickering.

"But are you sure?" Lance probably thought he was being soothing.

"Yeah, I'm sure. He's acting like more of a freak than usual and it's freaking me the fuck out."

"And it's because of a book?" Joey still sounded like he couldn't quite believe it. JC didn't read much, but if this was what happened when he did, Chris wasn't letting him near another book ever again.

"Chris," Justin said. "Are you positive he's planning on giving up music? What's he going to do instead? Is he just not going to sing anymore, or is he giving up writing too? I mean, what's he going to do?"

Chris sat beside the pool and kicked at the water. "I don't know. I'm not positive, but I don't think he's thinking about anything. You know what he's like when he's depressed."

Joey snorted and Chris held the phone away from his ear as someone turned up the music in the background and Joey shouted for it to be turned down before speaking to Chris. "Has he gotten out of bed at all.?"

"Maybe 20 minutes yesterday."

"Fuck." It was a chorus, and Chris didn't blame them. He'd been thinking it for the past 72 hours, give or take.

"So you need a plan," said Lance.

"What do you mean I need a plan?" He pushed his toe at a bug that floated past, watching it spin in the miniature whirlpool he'd made. "I'm not doing this on my own."

"You know I'm on the road, Chris. I can't come back." There wasn't even a hint of regret in Justin's voice. "And Lance and Joey have stuff going on too. Besides, you're the best one for this."

"How does that figure?" he asked. "Oh. Fine." Chris kicked the bug away with a splash. "You can fucking well help me come up with a plan then. Otherwise the next time you speak to me I might have become a member of the cult of JC."

"You're already a member, Chris," Lance said. "You've been carrying a card since Germany." He laughed. "Lord knows what you'd do if JC actually acknowledged the membership."

"Fuck you too, Lance," Chris said without venom. "So what are we going to do?"

Joey chuckled and somehow managed to sound evil. "Don't you mean what are you going to do?"

 

_"You drop the melody line and shout the lyrics." _

The next few days were nothing more than Chris attempting to drag JC back into reality. He tried all of his best tricks, from softly whispered cajoling to throat-shredding yelling. Nothing worked. JC refused to change his mind. Refused to get out of bed. Refused to even admit that Chris was right and that he, JC, was an easily influenced, stubborn idiot. Resorting to a bucket of water had resulted in nothing more than a superior look of disappointment from JC and a raging case of guilt for himself.

Chris had pulled back to regroup and prepare for the next assault.

He sifted through the letters piled on the table. Current fan mail. All of it written after the last concert. Chris had been surprised at how quickly the label responded to his request - it had only taken two days for several full bags to arrive on JC's doorstep via courier. Now he just had to work out the best way to force JC to read what the fans had to say. It was a sure fire bet. He even had $100 on it against Justin. JC was a sucker for the fans, as long as he didn't have to let them touch him.

Chris ran the tip of his finger along the edge of a pink sparkly envelope and tried to ignore the cloying scent drifting from the pile. The first step was to sort through the letters and categorise. He needed to weed out anything that JC might misconstrue. Three piles would do it - 'Oh My God, You Are So Hot' to the left, 'Nsync Saved My Life' in the middle, and 'Your Music Was the Best, I Miss You So Much' on the right. 'Oh My God' would go in his bag until he had a chance to pick out all the ones meant for him and torment the rest of the band. 'Saved My Life' and 'Miss You So Much' would be the honey to JC's bee. Chris figured that made him the beekeeper, which sounded about right.

He spent the rest of the day huddled in JC's studio, his laptop hooked up to JC's abused microphone. By the end the vocal booth smelt like perfume, his voice was hoarse and he had a CD.

JC was awake when Chris tried to tip-toe into the bedroom. His hair framed his face in tangled wet curls and he didn't have a shirt on. Chris slipped the CD into his jacket pocket as he shrugged it off and dumped it on the floor. "Hi," he said, his voice rough and scratchy.

"Hey." JC blinked. "I'm not getting up."

Chris bit his lip, sat down next to JC and ran a finger over his shoulder. "Maybe I don't want you to get up, shithead. Did you think of that?"

"No."

JC's voice was just as bad as Chris', but it was under use that had left his voice husky. Chris drifted his finger across until it rested delicately against JC's throat, then he fanned his fingers and felt JC's pulse drum under the tips.

"Chris."

"Shh." Chris swung his legs onto the bed and tugged a strand of JC's hair. "I'm tired. I can't sleep. Move over." He slid in next to JC and closed his eyes. A moment later he felt JC curl in front of him. Chris put his hand on JC's forehead and stroked his hair back.

"Mmm. That's nice. Reminds me of my mom when I was a kid."

Chris stopped. "Ah." This was possibly the worst idea he'd ever had.

JC grabbed Chris' hand and pulled it around his waist. "Relax, dude. No creepiness intended."

"I'm completely relaxed, asshole. Now let me go to sleep." He slipped his fingers between JC's and dropped his forehead against JC's shoulder.

Chris dozed off and on for a few hours. He listened to JC's muted sighs and reacquainted himself with JC's habit of tightening his grip every time he shifted position. There was no need for him to hold on tighter when JC did all the work. Eventually Chris slipped away from JC's grasp. JC didn't stir.

In the cover of dark, Chris crossed the bedroom, pulled the door open and reached out into the hallway. He picked up the portable stereo he had left behind earlier and set it just inside the room. The CD slipped easily from the jacket lying on the floor. He slotted it into the player, pressed play and adjusted the sound to the perfect volume. The buzz of his own voice reading echoed in his ears as he stepped into the hallway.

Any sign of JC's good mood had disappeared by the next morning when Chris covertly watched him stomp into the kitchen. He was muttering about asshole guests who didn't have the common sense or courtesy to leave a guy be in his own house. Chris didn't care. At least the fucker was out of bed.

"Morning," he said as he stepped into the kitchen. "Isn't it nice to feel loved?"

JC glared at him. He'd pulled his hair back into a ponytail and dressed in clothes that Chris knew had been lying on the floor just hours earlier. The track pants were crumpled, and there seemed to be a food stain punctuating the writing on the t-shirt. Chris was more than a little disturbed that he still managed to look hot.

"So how did you sleep?"

"Fuck you, Chris," JC said. "Was that meant to be some kind of fucking joke? I dreamt I was being stalked by obsessive fans who couldn't stop telling me how much I'd changed their life and how wonderful my music was, and then I woke up and all I could hear was your fucking voice droning at me."

Chris winced at the way JC spat the words music and voice. There was no warmth directed towards the kind and encouraging words of his fans, no humour in his words to Chris. He went on the offensive, his natural default. "Fuck you, dude. I try to do something nice and look where that gets me. In a world of fucking grief." Chris waved his hands at the fridge and coffee maker. "You'd better not use those. God forbid you're forced to read something nice about your music."

"What music, Chris?" JC pulled at the letters Chris had stuck to the milk. "All I've ever done is create noise. The world doesn't need more music, there's plenty as it is so there's no need for me to keep polluting the airwaves."

"You are such a fucking melodramatic bitch, JC," Chris said. "People like what you do. I like what you do. Don't our opinions count for anything?"

JC threw the last letter on the counter top and looked at Chris. "No," he said.

Chris regarded him for a moment, then scooped up the letters and left the room. He needed to regroup and write a check for $100.

 

_"This siege of noise." _

There was no waiting period before stage two. If JC was going to be an asshole, Chris was going to be an even bigger one. He wasn't letting JC get comfortable in his misery again. It was fucking tiresome. And he had a reputation to uphold.

JC had retreated to the bedroom once more and Chris found the portable stereo back in the hall, its battery house open and empty. He scooped it up and carried it with him. A back up would be useful.

In the living room, he loaded up the stereo, set the volume to full and pressed play. Then he stretched out on the sofa and made himself comfortable. It wasn't a long wait.

"Turn that shit off."

Chris looked up before turning back to the hockey game that was playing on mute. "Sorry. You're out-voted"

"There are only two of us here, Chris."

"Right, and I'm older, so my vote counts for more." He caught JC's wrist as he tried to walk past to the sound system. "Are you planning on avoiding music for the rest of your fucking life? Deal with it, JC. You have no choice. I'm staying here and I want to listen to music."

JC tried to pull his hand away but Chris held firm. "You could leave. I'm pretty fucking sure that you have your own house."

Chris ignored him. JC being bitchy was step towards normality. "It's being fumigated."

"Bullshit." JC sat down and pushed Chris against the back of the sofa.

"So it's bullshit." Chris shrugged and stoically ignored the way JC was brushing slowly against his wrist. It was just a ploy; nothing more, nothing less. "I'm not leaving."

JC shrugged back. "You need to respect my space, man." He leant against Chris, his warmth creeping through their clothes. "I've made a decision and you need to respect it."

"Since when have I have respected anyone's space? Especially yours." Chris tugged at JC until they were fitted together along the couch. It was going to be done on his own terms this time, and JC was tension from head to foot. He prodded JC's calf with his big toe. "And your decision makes you an asshole. Just go with it, 'C. Listen to these guys do their thing." Chris pulled the remote from between the cushions, held it away from JC's grab, and turned the sound down so that it was comfortable. Then he threw the remote across the room.

"Chris."

Chris pulled JC closer. "Shut up. I'm watching the game."

JC stayed on the sofa through three back to back games and a drag race before he extricated himself. The last CD had finished half an hour before and they had been lying in silence. When JC stood, Chris looked up at him, waited for him to speak.

"I think I'll go and read for a while."

He snorted before he could help himself. "That's the stupidest thing I've heard all week. And that's saying a fucking lot."

JC folded his arms. "Fuck you, asshole. This was nice and then you had to fuck it up."

The story of his life.

Chris sat up. "Come on, JC. You have to admit that this whole thing is pretty fucking ridiculous."

"More ridiculous than running away from being unemployed and camping in a friend's house to avoid reality."

"At least I'm not the one going for a Guinness Book World Record for sulking for no good reason." Fuck. Chris stalked to the stereo and pressed play again.

JC pulled the plug. "Stop being an asshole, Chris, and let me live my life the way I want. If that means no more music, that means no more music. It's my choice and if you don't like it then you can get the fuck out."

"Well it's a fucking stupid choice, JC," Chris shouted after him. "You are too fucking talented to just quit."

Chris returned the plug to its socket and pressed play again. When it finished he didn't bother to turn it back on. He was in an unnatural state of complete relaxation - pizza heavy in his belly, weed a beautiful cloud in his mind. Finally, when he couldn't think anymore, he went to bed.

JC was up first the next day. When Chris walked into the living room, one hand scratching his balls, JC was on the sofa with a cup of coffee in his hand. The sound system was gone.

Chris took the cup from JC's hand, drained it and walked back out. It was the best option.

JC came to him this time. Chris had sprawled on his back on the bed, earphones jammed in his ears. He didn't take them out when the bed dipped.

"Hey, dipshit," JC said.

Chris looked at him, shut his eyes again and turned the volume up. He felt JC's hands a moment before they took his earphones away.

"So. I made you some coffee." JC gestured towards the floor.

Chris grunted.

"Look. I'm sorry, man." A hand hovered next to Chris, like he was unsure where he wanted to put it. "This is your home too, you know."

Chris drew JC down beside him and replaced the earphones. He kept one of JC's hands between his own and tapped the beat of the music against it with his fingers. A while later, as Chris was dozing off, JC made a move to leave, but Chris rolled over and wrapped a leg around his knees. He pulled the earphones free, laid them on the pillow and turned the volume up. Then he placed a light kiss on JC's lips. And another. And another. After the third, JC responded and they kissed slowly until Chris stopped hearing the music. With a final press of his lips, Chris withdrew and curled his head onto JC's shoulder.

He was gone when Chris woke up. Stupidity had its own rewards.

"Fuck." He rolled off the bed, ran a hand through his hair and checked that the portable was still behind his bag under the bed. "Fucking musicians and their idiotic martyr complexes."

A shower revitalised his energy and his plan. Chris pushed JC's bedroom door open and found him sitting by the window, oblivious and scribbling in a notebook. He backed out slowly, but left the door open.

In the hall, he pressed play. Actions spoke louder than words, after all.

"What the fuck?" JC's shout carried over the cymbal crash. "Since when do you own classical music, asshole?"

Chris walked back into the bedroom. "I don't but you do." He sat on the opposite end of the chaise. "It's time for compromise, fucker. What do you say?"

JC's eyes narrowed. "What sort of compromise?" he asked.

"You let me play music some of the time and I let you have silence the rest of the time."

"Ok. You do still realise that this is my house, right?" JC dropped the notebook to the floor and regarded Chris with something that resembled exasperated fondness.

Chris nodded. "But I'm a guest, and your momma raised you to treat guests with respect."

"Fuck. Chris, I love you, man, but you are an asshole." JC kicked him. "Fine, play whatever. The stereo is in the kitchen pantry."

It didn't mean anything beyond them being family, and Chris hated himself just a little for hoping it was something different. He lifted one of JC's feet into his lap and pressed a thumb into the sole. "The pantry, dude?"

JC laughed and wiggled his foot. "Well it wasn't like you were going to look there anytime soon, was it?"

"No." Chris smiled. "That's what take-out is for." He pushed more firmly and JC sighed and sunk further into the seat beneath them. "JC?"

"Hmm?"

"You're not this stupid." He tightened his grip. "There is no way on earth a book could make you give up music. So why?"

JC closed his eyes and dropped his head back. "They didn't like them."

 

_"This is the arms race of sound." _

"Pay up, asshole," Chris flicked the car cigarette lighter on and off, making a game of not letting it pop out on its own.

Justin made a noise that approximated choking. "Hell, no. I'm still waiting on a check myself. When I get that, then I'll pay up." A snare drum crashed in the background and Chris heard a door close. "And is that fucking Whitesnake I can hear? Lance, are you reliving your childhood as told by teenie rags?"

"Sorry. That's me," Joey said. "Kelly's getting in touch with her roots or something. It's driving me fucking crazy."

Lance laughed. "Stop lying. You love it." There was a tap on the phone, probably Joey giving Lance the virtual finger. "So, Chris. He admitted it wasn't the book?"

"Hell yeah. I am the man." He let the lighter pop out, conceding a round. "Some assholes at the record company didn't like his songs. Talked trash and JC overhead."

"Who? They'll be out of a job before you can say Justin Randall--"

"He didn't tell me, but I think you're being delusional, J. You don't have that kind of pull."

Justin laughed. "Not yet, I don't. But seriously. JC doesn't usually let shit like this fuck with his head."

"He usually has us," said Joey. "This is all him. Don't tell me you don't know how that is."

Chris could practically see the earnest nod when Justin answered. "Yeah, man. You're right. It's intense. I just never thought anything would shake JC's faith, you know."

"Damn it, Joe, can't you turn that music down," Lance said. "I've worked hard to repress certain memories. So what now, Chris?"

"Hold with the plan, I think. Keep at him." He glared at the woman staring at him through the windscreen. "It's working."

"And you?" Joey was concerned, Chris knew that, but he didn't want to have this fucking conversation."

"I'm good. Bored out of my fucking brain, but good."

Lance hummed in response, but it was Justin who spoke. "You know you can't let it be the way it was before, right, dude. I don't have time to put you back together again, Chris. And none of us wants to have to do that. Not after last time."

"It can't be anything more than it is," Chris said. "I've gotta go. No repairs necessary. Bye." He jabbed the end call button, started the engine and flipped on the radio to erase Whitesnake from his brain.

 

_"You don't win with a lot of treble... You stomp the competition with the bass line." _

They settled into a cozy monotony. One laced with frustration for Chris.

He still slept in the guest room, but in the mornings JC would slip into his bed and Chris would press play to start the music and the making out. It was like being back in high school, only gentle and lazy instead of frantic and hurried. Since those first scattered kisses, everything had been initiated by JC. It wasn't about JC wanting sex, everything stayed above the waist, it was about avoidance. Kissing meant that JC didn't have to hear the music, caresses meant that he didn't have to think. Chris let it happen. He let it happen because he wanted it, and because he enjoyed it, but without fail, when he woke for the second time each morning, JC would be gone. Chris wasn't thinking about any of it.

If the mornings were a tease, the afternoons were a trial. He'd shower, jerk off and try to find a way to kill time. Once he'd finished restoring JC's studio, he started splitting his time between the XBox, ESPN and his guitar. It was enough to get him through until dinner on most days, but he wanted to leave the house; the urge to get out crawled like a bug under his skin. It was time for phase three.

Chris pushed his way into JC's bedroom. The floor was covered with crumpled paper again, but he ignored it. "Get up, dude. We've got somewhere to be."

JC put the pen he was holding down and looked up at Chris. "What? I don't have any appointments, man. I had Carlos cancel everything and gave him a vacation." He frowned suspiciously. "There is nowhere I need to be."

"Excellent," Chris said. "That means I don't have to worry that this will clash with your schedule. Now get your skinny ass in the shower. We need to be there in an hour."

"Chris."

"Just do it, JC." He bent down and pressed a kiss to JC's cheek. "Ok?"

JC sighed. "Yeah. Fine. But Chris?" Chris stopped at the door. "Don't do this again."

"Fine. Fine. Whatever." He waved a hand. "Don't be longer than 20 minutes or we'll be late."

"You could at least tell me where we're going."

Chris laughed and walked down the hall.

JC freaked as soon as Chris parked the car. "What the hell? Why are we at the hospital. Who's sick and how come no one called me. I still care, you know, just because I haven't been calling people... Fuck!" He jogged around the car and grabbed Chris' shoulder. "Chris. Shit!. Tell me why we're here, you fucker."

Chris plucked JC's hand from his shoulder. "No one's sick. Sorry, sorry. I should have realised this would happen." He rubbed his thumb across JC's knuckles, caressing the soft skin gently. "We're just here for a thing. No big deal."

"Chris," JC said, "as much as I have appreciated and enjoyed the past few weeks, nothing on earth will save you if you are trying to take me to see a therapist."

He tugged JC along and started walking. "Relax, dude. Contrary to what some people believe, I am not an idiot. Now come on."

An assistant greeted them on the fifth floor. "They already started," she said, leading them efficiently towards a door on the left. "Thank you so much for this. You have no idea how happy it makes them to have professionals come in and sing with them."

Chris felt a pinch at his waist. "What the hell, Chris?" JC hissed.

"Hey everyone, we've got some special visitors today." Small, expectant faces turned to the door and Chris pushed JC in ahead of him. "This is JC and Chris from Nsync. They're going to help you sing and play."

Chris nudged JC and smiled over his shoulder. "Hi guys. I'm Chris." He lowered his voice and whispered, "It's a musical therapy group for sick kids. Get over yourself, JC, it'll be fun." Then he spoke at a normal volume. "Don't mind JC, he's shy. Where should I sit?" Some of the kids shouted and Chris grinned. It got wider when a small girl tugged at JC's pants and asked him to sit down too.

The music therapy had been an inspired idea, Chris thought as they left. JC was smiling so much his eyes had disappeared, and he'd let the children coax him into singing a song they had been writing. It made Chris glad that he'd read his way through all of the fan mail. Stuff like that reminded him just how lucky he already was.

Back in the car, JC took Chris' hand for a moment before looking around and releasing it. "Thank you," he said, then looked down at his hands and picked at the corner of a nail. "Thank you for making me come here, and for organising this and... Chris." His voice cracked a little and Chris pretended not to hear it.

"It's no problem, 'C. I did it for me as much as you." Chris turned the key and kicked the engine over.

The ride was silent until Chris parked again. Then JC said, "I want to go again. Can we do that do you think?"

Chris flicked the keys and watched them swing in the ignition. Staying wasn't a good idea. His life was good, there was no need to be greedy. "I don't see why not." He didn't see JC lunge across the parking brake, but he heard him.

They stumbled into Chris' bedroom. Chris trailing as JC pulled him along, his lips already numb from the kisses in the car. His body knew this was going to happen, but his brain felt stuck in reverse. There were flashes of the first time, impossibly bad hair and the smell of sauerkraut. JC kissed him again and Chris' mind engaged as they fell onto the bed.

JC was everywhere. The heat of his body wrapped around Chris like a cocoon. His humming whispered its way into Chris' brain, and demanded a home. They were naked, completely, and none of it was Chris' doing. He arched up and closed his eyes.

The rhythm was all JC's, a steady and driving percussion that complemented the tune he was humming into Chris' neck and jaw. Chris pulled JC's mouth to his own and tried to swallow the words. They were too much. JC pulled away and bent to Chris' ear, more sounds spilling over each other faster than JC could vocalise. Chris opened his eyes in shock, and came.

 

_"...noise is what defines silence. Without noise, silence would not be golden." _

When Chris woke up, JC was already there wrapped tightly around him. It was hot and sticky, and the air felt thick. He wondered if the climate control was broken. JC seemed fine -- completely languid. Chris sucked in a breath. Life wasn't supposed to present things on a silver platter, and if it did, then there was meant to be a catch. There was always a catch. He wasn't waiting for this one to kick him in the teeth unaware.

Chris inched his way free. He showered quickly, threw on some clothes and went to JC's room to steal some notepaper. The note was scrawled hastily.

JC,

Had to leave. Forgot some meetings. I'll call.

Chris

Oxygen burnt his lungs. He put the paper on the pillow and left.

*

"You're where?" Justin said. "Tell me you didn't just bail for no good reason?"

"Um."

"You are a crazy fucking idiot. You know that, right?" There was a murmur in the background. "I gotta go. I said I wouldn't pick up the pieces, Chris, and I meant it. You need to stand still for once." Justin was probably shaking his head, if his tone was any indication. "I can't believe you left. Go back, you moron! Coming. Coming. Gotta go. I love you, man. Call me later." Justin hung up and Chris pulled over at the first rest stop he passed. It was hard to drive when you felt like puking your guts up.

His phone had rung while he was out of the car. Joey. Fucking Justin. It rang again before he had decided whether to call back or not. He answered.

"You are such a chickenshit."

"Thanks, Joe. I love you too." Chris sucked Mountain Dew through a straw. "Justin?"

"I wish," Joey said. "JC."

"Fuck."

Joey laughed and Bon Jovi laid the boot in. "He has no idea, dude, he just thinks you screwed up your schedule like always." He laughed again. "You ran, you asshole. You had a shot and you ran."

Chris turned on the radio. This conversation needed interference. "I didn't have a shot at anything, fucker. Nobody can have it all."

"Bull, fucking, shit," Joey said and coughed. "Ahem."

"It's not the same, asshole. The only shot I have is for more of the same. History repeats, Joe. It repeats and repeats and you know what?"

"What?"

"You should never go back." Chris sighed. "You should never fucking go back."

The Bon Jovi stopped. "You, Chris, are delusional. And possibly hysterical."

"It's fine, ok. It's fine. I'll call him soon." Chris hung up and started driving.

He was lucky to get half a mile before the phone rang again. He put it on speaker. "Hi, Lance."

Lance didn't even pretend to be surprised that Chris was expecting his call. "It all went to shit, huh? When should I expect my money."

Chris laughed, but it didn't feel good. "Never, asshole. He sang yesterday. I beat the deadline by a week."

"Well, fuck," Lance said. "So this is just you running away."

"I am not running away!"

"You fucked?"

Chris contemplated hanging up, but it would just delay the inevitable. Lance probably had 80% of the story anyway. "Yes."

"He was still there in the morning?"

"Yes." Lance was tapping the edge of his phone. "And stop fucking tapping, it's annoying."

Lance chuckled. "Touchy, touchy. I'm failing to see the problem, Chris. You got what you wanted. There's no good reason for you to be in a car with your bag on the backseat and a bug up your ass. Huh."

"Huh? What huh?" Chris shouted. "There is no huh. Stop fucking psycho-analysing me!" He hung up and kept driving until he was outside his mom's. He sat for a minute, then got out of the car and walked up to the front door. It swung back before he had the chance to knock.

 

_"The music and laughter eat away at your thoughts. The noise blots them out. All the sound distracts." _

It was three days before Chris called JC, and another week before he went back. They still hadn't spoken. JC wasn't answering as usual, and Chris hadn't been brave enough to leave a message. He'd been told he was an idiot by his mother, sisters, and best friends. He had been berated and scolded by everyone but the one person who currently held a free pass. It was time to suck it up.

"Hello?" The house was clean without Carlos around to throw parties, but the sound system was gone again. He wondered idly if he should look in the pantry. The fact was, he really didn't know what to do. See if JC was home, maybe. Hide in the guest room and try to discover time travel, probably.

Chris dropped his bag by the stairs and looked down the hallway. The drawers were gone from where he had pushed them against the wall. He walked towards the door and ignored the suspicion that his legs were about to collapse under him. It was the driving. Nothing else, just the driving.

The room was empty.

Chris slipped inside, sank down against the wall and breathed a sigh of relief. Nobody had ever taught him how to do this. He could talk and he could apologise if he had to, but this was more than that. He put his head on his knees.

"Chris?" JC was standing next to him in the doorway, looking down.

"Uh. Hi." He scrambled to his feet. "Hey. Um. You're back in the studio, huh?"

JC made a face. "No. Not really. It's just..." He drifted off.

Before he could stop himself, Chris reached out and then snatched his hand back. "Sorry. Ah. Sorry. Fuck. I...um."

"I didn't think you'd be back yet." JC smiled. "Did you get everything done?" JC gathered Chris' hands between his own and slid their fingers together. "I've been doing some writing. Slowly getting back into the groove, you know."

"That's, um, great. JC. That's...great. Fuck." Touching JC was a distraction. Chris took a step back and felt tension creep into JC's hands. "Wait. No. God. I am such an idiot," he sighed.

"Are you expecting me to disagree?" JC was smiling again, Chris could hear it.

He looked up from staring at his feet. "No. Wait. What? You knew?" He sank back down to the floor and JC followed. "But Justin said--"

"That I thought you screwed up your schedule." JC cupped Chris' jaw with a warm hand. "I didn't want to talk about it, so I lied."

Chris felt like the laughter was torn from his throat. "Sorry. Sorry." He laughed again.

JC tugged lightly at Chris' hair. "It's ok, cat. I figured you'd come back. Even if I wasn't sure why you left in the first place."

Chris winced. "Yeah. It's not that I don't want..." Chris waved his hand between them, "you know. It was just," he trailed off and looked around the studio. "Last week-- No. Fuck. I really don't know how to explain this, JC."

"Try, ok?"

Chris nodded. "Ok. Ok." He could do this. He looked at JC. "In Germany, a billion years ago now, it was fun, right? We had, ah, fun."

"Of course we--"

Chris clamped a hand over JC's mouth. "See. The thing is, I got tired of the fun pretty quickly."

JC pulled Chris' hand away and frowned. "I--I'm not sure what that means, dude."

"Shit. I completely suck at this." He took a deep breath and said, "So Germany was just us fucking around, and the fucking around was fun, but then it stopped being just fucking around for me, and after that it wasn't fun so much as masochism, you know?"

"Oh," JC said.

Chris glanced away as he answered. "Yeah. Oh."

JC's eyes crinkled slightly. "And last week? Was that fun or masochism?" He had both hands curved against Chris' neck now.

"Last week was...a surprise."

"A surprise? Really?" JC asked.

Chris shrugged. "Not what happened. That was why I came, dude, I think we both know that." The words were there in his brain, he just had to work out how to say them. "I was overwhelmed."

JC nodded, encouraging.

"Because, you know, there was Germany, and then there was last week, and then there was all that time in between." He took a breath and nodded as JC raised an eyebrow. "Yeah. Even then. So when you said what you said, my brain kind of went on vacation and I freaked. No one gets everything they want, JC. No one. I'm still waiting for the sky to start falling or some bullshit."

"That's not going to happen, you freak." JC pulled Chris in and kissed him softly. "Nothing is going to fall."

"Who's calling who a freak?" Chris swallowed and then coughed a little. Something was stuck in his throat. "So, ah," he cleared his throat again. "So how's the writing going?"

JC grabbed his hand and dragged him to a chair. "Here. Sit, cat, and listen." He lifted the guitar from its stand and began to play as Chris watched.

The lines and ashy colour that had shadowed JC's face just over a month ago had mostly faded. His hair was clean, as were his clothes. There was comfortable hang to his limbs that Chris hadn't seen since the last tour, and he was smiling. Chris smiled back. Maybe, just maybe, it was their turn to have it all.


End file.
